


Timing

by elaine



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universes, Drama, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-15
Updated: 2003-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:58:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elaine/pseuds/elaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair are meant to be together, but throughout several lifetimes, the timing is never right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Timing

 

 

On a sunny spring day, an old man sits on his front porch, a small boy at his feet. The old man is talking - the old man always has a lot to say - and the boy is apparently playing with his toy, but anyone who knows him can tell that the boy is listening intently. His mother watches across the low fence that separates the two properties.

She's satisfied, now, that the old man means no harm to her son, though in the early days of this unlikely friendship, she wasn't so sure of that. Enough of that remembered doubt exists that she tends to keep a wary eye out for anything suspicious, but basically she's accepted that her son is safe with the old man.

Perhaps it was the speed with which the pair connected. One day, only a few months ago, the old man moved into the house next door, and the next day, Jimmy had scrambled over the fence and was talking to him. They became firm friends immediately.

Or perhaps it's the way the old man looks. She's seen pictures of her own father with his hair long like that; when he was young. But fashions have changed and nobody - male or female - wears their hair long any more. There's just something a little off-putting about it. Still, he has nice eyes, and his voice is beautiful - deep and a little rough - and he always has something interesting to say.

On the porch the old man spins a tale of a hero and his sidekick; a hero with the ability to see further than any other man, to hear the faintest sound. Jimmy listens, though he's already heard these stories many times. He likes the stories, but even more than that, he likes the sound of the old man's voice. He likes the long curly hair, still more dark than grey, even though Blair has told him he's seventy-eight years old. He can see a hundred shades of blue in the eyes that belong to a much younger man.

Although he is only five, he knows that he belongs with Blair. He doesn't understand why, or what it means, but he knows that when he's with Blair, he's happy.

*

Blair is not sitting on the porch when Jim returns from his first year at college. He swallows his disappointment, telling himself that the old man couldn't possibly know he was returning today. Even _he_ hadn't known until yesterday; he'd been planning to travel with friends, but the car had broken down, and rather than wait several days for it to be fixed and then another three days of travelling, Jim had decided to use what was left of his allowance to fly home.

He's missed the old man, more than he would ever have imagined was possible. Since Blair moved into the house next door, Jim has never spent more than a couple of weeks away from him.

His parents aren't home yet, so Jim drops his luggage in his room and goes to Blair's house. There's no answer to his knock, and Jim feels the first tiny inkling of dread. Blair rarely goes out any more, never goes away. He should be home.

Jim uses the key Blair gave him years ago. To save him dragging his old bones out of his comfortable chair, Blair said with a laugh, but Jim has hardly ever had to use it, and his hand shakes a little as he turns the key in the old-fashioned lock. He calls the old man's name as he opens the door.

There is no answer, and Jim swallows nervously, then walks to the small study in the back. He helped set up the in bed there two years ago when Blair started having difficulty making his way upstairs.

Blair is in the bed, his eyes closed. His hair, thinner and completely white now, fans across his pillow like a shawl of the finest wool. His wrinkled face is slack, mouth slightly open, and for a moment Jim is afraid. Then he hears the soft whisper of breath, the quiet drub of Blair's heartbeat and is reassured. He sits in the chair beside Blair's bed and takes the old man's hand.

It is an hour before Blair stirs. When his eyes open, he immediately looks at Jim and smiles. He doesn't seem surprised at Jim's presence. "It's good to see you."

"Yeah." Jim forces a smile. He's had time to do a lot of thinking, watching Blair sleep. He isn't happy with those thoughts. "I've missed you, old guy. Do you want some water?"

Blair smiles and shakes his head, aborting Jim's movement towards the glass on the nightstand. "I don't need anything, now."

Jim falls silent. He is very, very afraid. He's pretty sure it shows in his face. He knows it does when Blair sighs and squeezes his hand weakly. "Please, Blair... don't..."

But what can he say? Don't be old? Blair has been old all the time Jim has known him. Don't die? Everyone dies, and Blair's earned his rest. If there's one thing the old man has taught him it's not to fear death. He doesn't fear his own death, only Blair's.

"I'm sorry. I wish..." he sighs again. "I'm tired, Jim."

"I know." Jim adds his other hand, holding Blair's square, wrinkled hand between both of his. "I'm being selfish, I just... why didn't you tell me?"

He's not even sure he knows what he's asking, or whether Blair will know what he means, but Blair's eyes light up. "I couldn't, Jim. You were so young. Through the years I've told you as much as I could."

"We were supposed to be together." Jim smiles, though his vision is swimming with tears.

"I know." A few crystal drops gather in the corners of Blair's eyes. "But not this time." He closes his eyes, already exhausted. "I'm sorry, Jim."

"Don't be." He squeezes Blair's hand again. "Maybe next time. It's all right to let go."

Blair's eyes open again, slowly. "Jim, will you... just... kiss me goodbye?"

He doesn't hesitate. How could he refuse Blair this last request? He's never been able to refuse him anything. He leaned forward and touched his lips to Blair's. It's a chaste kiss, but unmistakeably a kiss between lovers. He's never had a lover, but he knows.

When he draws back, Blair's eyes are closed. He's sleeping peacefully. Jim sits at his side until the end.

* * *

A young man is tossing his clothes into two piles, sorting them for the laundry. His brown, curly hair is wild with the energy that hangs like an aura about him. His excitement is a physical force in the shabby room. He knows he's close. Something tells him, this could be it. This could be the one. All he has to do is find him.

In the background the TV flares into life as he accidentally flicks the remote. The sudden blare of noise makes him flinch and the artificial movement in the corner of his eye causes him to turn his head.

The picture of a man's face fills the screen. He is handsome, the planes of his face almost sculptural, though the eyes, slightly down turned at the outer corners, give his face an air of sadness, of resignation. Blair knows, without a doubt, that if the man would only smile, it would change his face completely. Then the voiceover cuts through his appreciative stare.

"...funeral of Cascade Police Department's three times winner of Detective of the Year, Detective James Ellison was held today." The image dissolves into footage of a crowd of police officers in full uniform, clustered round a burial plot. "...killed while responding to a 911 call on Tuesday..."

Blair sinks to the floor, one hand going to cover his mouth. He sits, watching in stunned disbelief, as the brief news item draws to a close. No, no, no. It can't be. He's so close. It can't be.

*

There's a raw patch of brown earth, pockmarked with craters from the fat drops of rain that have been falling continuously since Blair saw the news item. Blair hates the rain, and the cold, but it seems highly appropriate that the city is mourning with him. There is a marker on the grave. It's very plain, made from cast plastic, meant to look like bronze. In time, no doubt, a proper bronze plaque, or maybe a gravestone, will replace it. His family is apparently quite well off.

James Joseph Ellison. That's all it says, and the years of his birth and death.

Blair stands staring down at it, at the destruction of his dream, at the loss of the most important person in his life, even though they've never met. He's cold. He's getting wet. At least the rain on his face will hide his tears. How could he explain them, anyway?

What is he going to do with the rest of his life?

"Excuse me." Blair looks up to see a tall black man watching him. He looks sad, and a little suspicious. "Were you a friend of Jim's?"

There's a hint of aggression in the other man's voice. Blair figures that he's probably had to deal with more than a few reporters, or maybe people who get a voyeuristic thrill out of seeing the grave of a celebrity. He can hardly blame the man for his attitude.

"No. I'd never met him." Blair turns away, but something makes him turn back. It feels too much like a denial of Jim to just walk away like that. He looks up into the sad, angry face. "Have you ever looked at someone for the first time and just _known_ that this person was going to be the most important person in your life?"

His voice cracks on the last word, and maybe it's that which banishes the scowl that is forming on the other man's face. He looks down at Blair - he's a _lot_ taller - with a curious expression. He nods briefly. "The first time I saw my son's face."

It hurts to breathe. He isn't prepared for any kind of understanding. "That's how I felt when I saw his face on the TV last night. Like I'd lost something before it even started."

He's crying, and not even the rain, which has become a steady downpour, can hide that now.

The other man takes his arm and leads him towards a car. They get inside, and his rescuer starts the engine, but only to run the heater, it seems. He doesn't attempt to drive off. He hands Blair some tissues and Blair wipes the rain and tears from his face and blows his nose.

"Simon Banks." A large hand appears before him and Blair grasps it briefly. "I'm... I _was_ Jim's captain."

He can hear the pain in Banks' voice. It reminds him that his own grief must seem like some kind of sick fantasy to the people who actually knew Jim. "I'm sorry... I'll just..." he reaches for the door. He'll catch a bus back into town. It's wrong to intrude on Jim's friends. The thought that they might have become his friends too catches at him and he forces back a sob as he fumbles with the handle. It takes a moment for him to realise that it's locked.

"I'm going back into town." The car moves off smoothly. "I'll drop you off."

"Thanks." He gives directions to his home. "It's not too far out of your way, is it?"

"No."

They travel in silence, but when the car finally stops, it is not outside his apartment. He looks over at Banks, curious, but not alarmed. "Uh... I can get a bus from here."

"Do you want a coffee?" The tone is abrupt. Blair realises that this is a man not given to asking for help, but that is what he needs right now. "The best coffee shop in Cascade is just around that corner."

"Yeah, I'd love to." Blair smiles faintly. "Would you... would you mind telling me about him?" The dark gaze turns hostile. "I'm not a reporter, I swear. I'm a grad student at the university. Anthropology." He fumbles out his ID. "Blair Sandburg."

Banks nods, his relief palpable. "I'd like that."

*

Much to his surprise, Blair and Simon Banks have become friends. He's pretty sure Simon is surprised too. He likes to think that it's Jim who has brought them together. That first day, Simon talked for two hours, his voice becoming gravelly with grief and exhaustion, telling stories about Jim.

Jim who was the best detective he'd ever worked with. Jim, who was his friend, who played with his young son and went to basketball games with them both. Jim, who went fishing with him. Jim, who helped him through his divorce.

When Blair tried to explain the connection he felt to a man he'd never met, Simon listened in respectful silence. When Blair tried to ask about Jim's senses, he was met with an impenetrable wall of suspicion. It was weeks later that, drunk and grieving anew as the reality of Jim's loss hit home, Simon finally told Blair all about the circumstances of Jim's death.

He'd been listening, outside the store where a hold up was in progress. Certain that a crisis was fast approaching, Jim had started running, weaving to make himself a difficult target, when the siren of an ambulance made him scream and drop to his knees. A shot from the store had hit him in the throat and he'd bled to death in minutes.

Blair got very drunk that night. If he'd found Jim earlier he could have saved him, taught him to control his senses. They could have been together. The way they were meant to be.

*

It's six months since Jim died, and today the whole of Major Crime has gathered to celebrate his life and the unveiling of his plaque. Blair knows them all. He's visited the department often, even managed to get ride-along status with Joel Taggart as research for his study on closed urban societies.

They all have their stories to tell about Jim, and it's a bittersweet feeling to hear them, to get to know Jim through their memories of him. He wishes he had some stories of Jim to tell. Instead he prompts the others: "remember that story you told me about the stakeout, and Jim wouldn't let you smoke, so you had to get out of the truck, and..."

With a laugh, Henri completes the tale and someone else starts a similar one. Blair knows most of them. He remembers every Jim-story he's been told. He treasures them in his mind, and is delighted to hear a few new ones.

They're all a little drunk by the time Simon draws him aside. His expression is serious. "Blair, I tried, but I can't get an extension of your ride-along status. You've had it a month longer than you're supposed to, already."

His heart sinks. He doesn't want to give this up; not the family feel of this group, not the excitement of police work, especially not the only real link he has to Jim. It crystallises in his mind the half-formed wish fulfilment dreams he's nurtured almost since he first met Simon.

He shrugs and smiles at Simon. "It's okay. I knew it had to happen."

Simon just looks at him. They haven't talked a lot about the impulses that have driven him to become an accepted member of this group, but he's seen the way Simon watches him. Jim is always there, in the background.

"I was thinking..." he takes a deep breath. He can hardly believe he's going to do this, but it also feels absolutely right. He just doesn't know how he's going to explain it to his mother. "...thinking of going to the Academy. D'you think I'd stand a chance?"

Simon's face lights up. "Are you kidding? Hell, I'll sponsor you myself." He slaps Blair on the shoulder, nearly sending him flying. "Listen up people. I have an announcement to make." He pauses, one eye on Blair, and Blair nods. His decision is made. "Mr Junior Detective here is going to apply for the Academy."

Immediately, his friends surround him; they're laughing and cheering and pummelling his back in congratulations. One day, maybe, they'll be his colleagues too. Simon is giving him a very proprietary look.

* * *

Jim looks at the kid in the chair with suspicion. There hasn't been a lot in his life that he could trust, and he isn't about to try to change that now. "What makes you think you know _anything_ about what's wrong with me?"

The kid doesn't so much as blink. "Because I've seen this before. I've studied the Sentinel phenomenon my whole life."

He looks about twenty. Jim snorts. The kid blushes. "Give me a chance, Jim. Don't you even want to hear about it?"

Where does a smart-mouth kid get off calling him by his given name? Jim glares at him and brings out his best weapon. "You can't _help_ me. I'm dying."

"I know." The kid meets his eyes and Jim is left breathless by the depth of compassion and - could it be love? - that he sees in the smoky blue eyes. "I wish I could have found you sooner. I can't save your life, but at least I can give you information so you can make sense of it all. There are more ways to help than by providing a cure."

Jim isn't too sure about that, but something about the kid makes him want, for the first time in years, to trust someone. He doesn't trust that impulse, but, hell, what harm could it do to listen?

He sighs. Although he'd never admit it, he's lonely, having driven away his infrequent visitors with his anger and despair. Even the nursing staff tend to avoid him as much as they can. "Okay, tell me about it."

*

It's such a waste. Blair watches Jim sleep in his big hospital bed. Over the month since Blair found him, he's deteriorated on an almost daily basis. The drugs that suppress his senses and make it possible for him to function normally have shredded the sheathing that protects his nerve endings, causing him intense pain. As well, they've damaged his motor controls and he's been bedridden for over a year.

He knows this is probably more galling for Jim than the prospect of death. He's seen pictures of Jim taken in the days before his Sentinel abilities came online. Tall, handsome, muscular; he was an Army Ranger, then a cop, his life active and physical. Now, Blair stares at the vestiges of that man and wonders how much longer he's got. However long it is, he's determined to stay, no matter how hard Jim tries to get rid of him.

The first moments after Jim wakes are always the best. His eyes light up and he smiles before he remembers his grudge against the world that's betrayed him. Sometimes, all Blair can get out of him is monosyllables, other times he mutters bitterly about anything and everything. His mind is sharp in his decaying body, but it's consumed by resentment.

Blair knows that Jim likes him. He also knows that Jim will go to his grave before he admits it. The knowledge hurts. There is so much more he could give Jim, if only Jim would allow it.

Jim stirs restlessly, feeling the pain through drugs that are barely effective any more. Blair moves to the edge of the bed and perches there, waiting for the smile that makes this whole thing worthwhile.

"You still here?" Jim's speech is often slurred these days. Blair knows he doesn't have much longer, and it scares him that he's made so little progress. That Jim has allowed him to make so little progress. "Didn't I tell you to go?"

"That was yesterday. You were tired." Blair holds a cup with a straw for Jim to drink. He can't even manage that on his own any more.

"I'm always tired." Jim grumbles, but sucks the straw. Afterwards he closes his eyes with a sigh.

"Want me to tell you a story?"

"You and your damn stories." There's a hint of affection in the weak voice. Blair decides that's an affirmative.

"Have you ever known that you were destined to be with someone? That this one person would be with you for the rest of your life?"

"I was married, remember?" Then Jim opens his eyes. "I guess I never felt that way about her."

There's no resentment in his voice, only a weary sadness. Blair touches Jim's cheek for a moment and he blinks in surprise. "Well, _I've_ felt that way."

"You have?" A stirring of interest in the tired eyes gives him hope. Jim is really listening, in a way he hasn't since that first day when Blair told him about his Sentinel abilities and what they meant. "Who?"

There is a distinct note of jealousy in Jim's voice, and Blair suppresses a smile. "I'll tell you the story. You'll figure it out."

Jim nods. He closes his eyes again, but Blair can tell he's waiting.

"Some people believe that there's only ever one person, one soul mate, who will make them complete." He pauses, trying to keep his voice low and even. It won't be easy to tell this story. "The same thing applies to Sentinels and Guides. There are literally dozens of cultures which have a tradition of Sentinels, or something similar, and most of them believe that not just anyone can guide a Sentinel. That there is a bond which links Sentinels and Guides, even beyond this life.

"But what happens..." Blair clenches his fists till his nails dig into his palms, "...what if the intended soul mates are born out of synch with each other?"

A frown deepens the wrinkles on Jim's forehead, but he doesn't open his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"What if one of the pair has become old before the other is even born? What if they never meet in their lifetime?" Blair's voice is shaking and he has to force himself to continue. "What if they meet, but one of them is dying?"

Jim is staring at him. He knows what Blair is talking about. "It's just a story."

"No. It isn't, Jim. It's not a story." Tears are trickling down his cheeks and he sees Jim's face harden. He doesn't want to believe it, doesn't want to risk being hurt again, and how can Blair blame him for that? He knows a lot more about Jim's history than just the medical details. "I _know_ that it's real."

"You _can't_ know." Jim shakes his head and his voice is harsh, desperate. "You _can't_."

"I remember them, Jim. Every time. Every missed chance." Blair leans forward and wraps his arms around Jim. He has to be careful, because Jim couldn't possibly take his weight without suffering severe pain, but he needs to hold him. "There'll be another chance for us, I promise you."

"You can't promise me that." Jim turns his face away from Blair. "Even if all this mumbo-jumbo is true, how do you know we'll get another chance?"

There's a brief silence as they both process the fact that Jim has at least accepted that there's a 'them'. Blair kisses his cheek. "I just know."

*

He is dying. He's known that for a couple of years, but now he can actually feel it. Once, he would have just given up, but now he's fighting to live; fighting for every moment he can spend with Blair. He realises that for the first time in his life he's perfectly happy.

Still, the habits of a lifetime can't be easily denied. A week after Blair told him that ridiculous fairy story, Jim has found the bitter kernel that Blair has never mentioned. He waits for Blair to arrive, alternating between a sense of betrayal not even he can completely understand, and the eager anticipation of being with someone who can bring him such joy.

When Blair arrives, he turns his face up for a kiss, but by the time Blair has settled on the edge of the bed, sour anger is welling up inside him. "Why didn't you do something?"

"Huh?" Blair blinks, not only at the question, but at the hostile tone. He looks concerned. "Do what?"

"This." He lifts a hand and gestures weakly at his wasted body. "If you knew all about Sentinels in a previous life, why didn't you... I dunno... write something? If the doctors had known what it was, I wouldn't have been on those damn drugs all these years."

It's months since he's spoken so many words in one breath. By the end he's panting and Blair is looking worried and upset. "I'll call..."

"No!" Jim drags in another breath. "Just answer the question."

"I tried. Jim, I've written books about Sentinels. I've even found them again after I'm reborn, but it's like..." Blair's face sets in lines of utter frustration, "it was the same with Burton's book."

Jim knows about Burton. Blair told him that first day, full of enthusiasm and excitement. He nods, too exhausted to speak.

"Once I've died, the books are forgotten. It's almost like they were never meant to be believed." Blair shrugs. "I don't understand it all. But I know... I _know_ , Jim, about us. All my life I felt like there was a part of me missing. All my life I've had a fascination with Sentinels, even before I found _any_ documentation about them... and when I found you, even before I met you, I just _knew_..."

"Blair." Jim reaches out to touch Blair's arm. "I'm sorry. It's all right. I just..."

"I know." Blair leans over him to kiss him, then lies on his side on the bed, one arm resting around Jim's waist.

That's about all they can do. It doesn't seem to faze the hospital staff, who've walked in on them kissing a few times. When he's too tired even to kiss, Jim smiles and closes his eyes for a moment.

Typically, his personal demon chooses this time to whisper poison in his mind. Jim ignores it. Mostly. But he opens his eyes and looks into Blair's from a distance of inches. It's a view he never tires of seeing. "Why is it you remember and I don't?"

Blair considers his question with a smile. "The first one that I remember, I died and you brought me back. It was like a vision, and I was a wolf. You were a panther. I'd been drowned and you came after me in the vision and brought me back."

"I had to ask." Jim sighs good-naturedly. "Doesn't anything normal ever happen to you?"

"Afterwards, you told me you weren't ready to... to... anyway, we never quite got there. You know?" Blair's kiss takes away the sting of disappointment. "But it might not have been that, or at least, not only that. There was this shaman, from Peru. When he died, he passed the way of the shaman to me, because I was your Guide. So maybe that's why I remember."

"Because you're a shaman, or because you're a wolf?" Suddenly, Jim doesn't care whether any of it is real or not. If Blair's made it all up just to bring a little happiness into his life, then he won't question it. "I love you, you know that?"

"Of course I do." Blair grins cockily. "You fell for me the moment you saw me. Just like you always do."

"That's right." Jim grins back. "You think next time we'll get the timing right?"

A shadow falls across Blair's face. "I hope so."

* * *

"This is one of our 'special' patients." The nurse cocks a significant eyebrow at Blair. "He's no trouble at all, though. Hasn't so much as twitched in months. Before that... well, you wouldn't ever have wanted to go in there alone. One minute he'd be fine - surly, but acting normal - next thing you know, he's screaming and throwing people around."

Blair nods. He's new to the job. Something to pay his rent and utilities until the university year starts and he can apply for his grants. He hasn't told anybody here that, though. "Sounds bad. What's wrong with him?"

"Honey, between you and me, I don't think the doctors ever figured that out." She smiles and shakes her head. "Every other week one of them would come up with a new diagnosis. But now they just ignore him. If he ever wakes up again, you just look out, okay?"

"Okay."

Maybe he isn't showing enough concern. She stops outside the door of the 'special' patient. "I mean it. You met Roberto yet?"

"Yeah." Roberto is huge, at least six foot four and massively built. He's a gentle man, who looks after the most violent patients.

"Well, our boy in there tossed him aside like he weighed no more than you do." She folds her arms across her ample bosom and purses her lips. "Broke three of his ribs _and_ his arm."

In spite of himself, Blair is impressed. "Can I see him?"

"What? You think he's some kind of tourist attraction?" Blair's already discovered that she's all bark and no bite. He smiles charmingly and she opens the door. "Good looking boy like that. It's such a pity."

The patient is about thirty, Blair guesses. He's lying completely still, on his back, arms straight at his sides. A lot like a corpse, actually. Blair's mouth goes dry at the sight of him and his heart begins to pound. He wants to go over and touch that still figure, to bring him to life with a kiss. It's a feeling so intense it frightens him. He backs away hurriedly.

"Hold on, sugar. He ain't coming after you." She sounds amused.

Blair doesn't care if she thinks he's afraid of the patient. Well, she's right, he is; just not for the reason she imagines. "What's his name?"

"Jim something." She's already moving on, they're close to the nurse's station and no doubt there are a list of duties to be performed. "Ellison, I think. Jim Ellison."

He gasps. Just like that, everything falls into place.

Half remembered details from another life - literally another life, because they certainly don't belong in this one - fade in and out of his mind. Jim Ellison, his friend, his roommate. Little Jimmy, sitting at his feet, listening to tales of Sentinels and Guides, growing up aware of his abilities and knowing how to deal with them - a rare success, that. A bronze plaque with the name of James Joseph Ellison, and a dark face smiling. Jim, dying slowly in a hospital room, stripped of everything except the hope of meeting again in another life. How many times had they come together? How many times had they missed each other entirely? He remembers entire lifetimes feeling lost, alone, like an essential part of himself was missing.

"...all right, honey?" Serena's anxious face appears before him. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine..." His voice sounds weak and unconvincing. "I had flu last week. I guess I'm not completely over it."

"Well, how about you take your break early?" She pats his arm briskly. She's not uncaring, but obviously doesn't want him causing her any extra work. "Go have a coffee and a snack, okay?"

He smiles gratefully. "Thanks."

*

It takes a week for him to get assigned to Jim Ellison. In the meantime, he reads and rereads everything his can find about Sentinels. In the process, he discovers books he can remember writing himself. It's a freaky feeling. He meditates frequently, trying to reach inside himself for answers.

All his life he's felt a compulsion to learn about these things. He's been fascinated by the Sentinel myths and obsessed with the idea that, somewhere, there was another piece of his soul, trapped in someone else's body. Now he knows it's all true. In spite of the fact that there's not one shred of hard evidence to support him, he _knows_ that Jim Ellison is a Sentinel, that _he_ is a Guide, and that they belong together.

He stands outside the door, trembling and trying not to panic. Taking deep breaths hardly helps. He hasn't felt like this in a long time.

"Blair, honey, you don't have to do this." It's Serena, friendly, concerned, and probably afraid he's going to mess up on her shift. "I can get someone else to take this one for you."

"No!" He smiles to take away the sharpness of his reaction. "Sorry. I want to do it. Besides, you said he hasn't responded in months. I can handle him."

"Sure you can." She grins. "You go get him, honey."

He takes one more deep breath and opens the door.

Inside the room it's dark and quiet. With the door shut, not a lot of noise comes through from the rest of the ward. Perfect for a Sentinel not in control of his senses. The thought gives him some hope.

He walks over to the bed and takes a good look at his Sentinel. Jim looks just the way he'd expected - pale, perfectly sculpted features, thin, well-formed lips, slightly parted, dark hair cut very short. His eyes would be blue, if he could see them. Blair touches the pale cheek, feeling a slight rasp of stubble against his palm.

"Jim?" He leans over, bringing his face close to Jim's. "Jim, I know you're in there. I know what's happened, and I can help you."

There's no response, but he isn't really expecting an immediate improvement. From everything he's read about Sentinels, and Jim, he's certain that Jim's in a zone. He lifts one limp arm and begins to move it gently, exercising lax muscles to slow down the inevitable wasting.

"Listen to me, Jim. I guess things have been pretty tough, huh? All those noises only you can hear. Smells that are too strong. Lights too bright. I guess it's easier for you to hide in there and not come out."

He moves to the other side of the bed and starts on Jim's other arm. "Have you ever heard of Sentinels? That's what you are, Jim. A Sentinel. All your senses are more developed than ordinary people, and that's great, but it has its down side, too. That's why your senses can hurt you.

"I can help you with that." He folds back the blanket and begins on Jim's leg. "Let me tell you all about Sentinels..."

*

Every day, he goes through the same routine. First the exercises, then the bed bath, then a massage with skin lotion and all the time, Blair talks, telling stories, trying to imprint his voice on Jim's consciousness. After he finishes he sits on the edge of the bed and holds Jim's hand for a while.

It's only been three days, and he's prepared for Jim's recovery to take some time, but he's impatient too. How many times have they had a chance like this? He is twenty-one, Jim is thirty. Age-wise, that's just about perfect. They could have the next sixty or seventy years together. The thought awes him. He knows how good it could be. If only he can guide Jim out of his zone.

So far he's kept his interaction with Jim on a strictly professional level. He hasn't wanted to take any risks, but he's beginning to wonder if that simply isn't enough to reach Jim. He's only engaged two of Jim's senses - touch and hearing - and that won't be enough, he thinks, to reach the place where Jim's hiding. Sight is pretty much out of the question, so that leaves taste and smell. Of the two, smell is the easiest, but he'll have to get closer than sitting on the bed.

On the fourth day, he doesn't shower. He checks himself carefully before going to the hospital, and it's not too bad, but there's a definite Fragrance of Blair going on. A Sentinel, even one zoned out like Jim is, couldn't help but notice it, given half a chance. He just hopes nobody else will.

He hurries through his other duties, leaving Jim till last so he can spend as much time as possible with him. Instead of starting the bed bath, he rolls Jim onto his side and slips onto the bed, fitting his body against Jim's longer frame. He pulls Jim's head against his chest, strategically positioned near his armpit.

"Sorry about this Jim." He strokes the short, fine hair at the back of Jim's head. "I guess this isn't the nicest scent for you, but I really want you to wake up now."

He runs his hand up and down Jim's bare arm. "I know you can hear me. I know it's been hard, living in this world with all your senses going crazy. But you have to come back now so I can show you how to deal with them. Listen to my heartbeat, Jim. Feel my hand on your arm. Just breathe in my scent. You know you belong with me."

After a few minutes, he thinks he can sense a difference. Jim's body doesn't feel quite so limp and lifeless. It could be wishful thinking, but he doesn't believe it is. He rolls Jim onto his back and follows with his own body so he's lying half on top of him. He lifts his head to stare down into Jim's face.

There's definitely a tension in that face, the jaw is no longer slack, the eyelashes are just barely fluttering. Blair feels a wild surge of hope. "Come back to me, Jim."

He kisses the dry lips, gently teasing them apart with his tongue. Allowing Jim to taste the coffee he drank only half an hour ago. A faint shiver runs through Jim's body, and Blair draws back. The dark lashes flutter again and lift slightly. Light blue eyes stare into his.

Jim smiles.

*

Two men sit under a tree on a near perfect summer day. The older and taller of the two holds the other between his legs, leaning back against his chest. Their arms are folded across the younger man's chest. They are completely relaxed, completely attuned to each other.

Their lives are busy, but they always take a little time for themselves each day. Time to be alone together, to reaffirm the bond that nurtures them. For the older man, nothing brings greater pleasure than to immerse his senses in his Guide. He lowers his head occasionally to take deep breaths of his Guide's scent.

The younger man smiles every time he hears the sound. He loves the physicality of their bond. Twenty years has not been long enough to dull the wonder that he feels each time his Sentinel grounds himself this way.

But there is one pleasure for him that is even greater. Behind them, out of sight and hearing, for Blair, at least, is the sprawling old farmhouse they've been living in for the last ten years. They bought it after he and Jim went public with Jim's abilities. It was intended as an escape from the constant pressure of the media, and the government agencies that wanted to recruit them.

Neither of them really expected to find another Sentinel, but one day she just appeared at the gate, thin and frail, shaking in withdrawal from the drugs that had suppressed her 'hallucinations'. There are five other Sentinels living with them now, three of them bonded with Guides as he and Jim are, and although the loss of privacy is a down side, he knows that the knowledge of Sentinel abilities will never be lost again.

He's pretty sure that there won't be a next time for the two of them. This time, they've become what they were always meant to be. There's a feeling of finality about this life and Blair is content with that. But it reassures him to know that if he and Jim do return, there will be somebody to help Jim until Blair finds his soul mate again. That the two of them have been able to help other Sentinels and Guides find each other is a bonus that pleases Blair.

After a while they get up and stretch and exchange a long, sweet kiss. Then they walk back to the house, to the life they have made for themselves. As they pass out of the dappled shade of the trees, the taller man throws his arm across the younger man's shoulders.

 

 


End file.
